You'll cry a bit if you allow yourself to be tamed
by Listelia
Summary: Scorpius was dreaming. Of old dusty books, of the sound of rain drops on his window at Hogwarts, of fish cakes, of a ferret named Spoon, of the horrible taste of treacle tarts, of letters sent to his father, of the smell of parchment and honeysuckle soap, of green eyes filled up with tears and of the day the skylark had fallen into his cauldron...
1. Waiting in the Lost & Found

Scorpius was dreaming.

Of old dusty books, of the sound of rain drops on his window at Hogwarts, of fish cakes, of a ferret named Spoon, of the horrible taste of treacle tarts, of letters sent to his father, of the smell of parchment and honeysuckle soap, of green eyes filled up with tears and of the day the skylark had fallen into his cauldron...

The living room was bathed in the soft light of the candles and the warmth running through the copper pipes. Behind the big window, the snow was falling slowly, sprinkling the night in light sugar flakes.

* * *

 **WAITING IN THE LOST AND FOUND**

* * *

The old sorting hat smelled of boiled leather, girly shampoo and cheap hair gel.

Scorpius was hoping nobody had left some lice in the folds and felt rather relieved when the rustling voice finished procrastinating with itself and finally announced in which house he had been sorted.

\- "Gryffindor!"

The designated table burst into warm applause, but Scorpius paled and nearly tripped over his robes as he went down the stairs in a daze.

 _Gryffindor?_ This _was_ not _what was expected. Something was going terribly wrong._

He slipped on the edge of a bench and stared at his fists, feeling very unhappy.

 _How was he going to tell his father that he had not been sorted into Slytherin? And what would his grandfather say? That it was "not surprising Draco's offspring was an imbecile unworthy of the glory of Salazar"... and then his father would blanch and his grandmother would step in and the evening would turn into yet another disaster. Later his mother would cry and beg again her husband to move to India or anywhere, far away from Malfoy Manor._

Scorpius pursed his lips, fighting to hold back his tears.

He wanted so much to make his father happy. Draco Malfoy had looked so proud on _Platform 9 ¾_ , readjusting his son's bow tie. For once, his gray eyes had not been melancholic.

 _Why Gryffindor? Stupid and senile mumbling hat..._

The first years sorting out ended without his noticing, and when he looked up at the end of the welcome speech, he found in front of him, on the other side of the table, a girl with neat brown curls who seemed terrified by the roast, and a blond boy with round glasses, busy tapping his wand on his pumpkin juice glass, who was mumbling a ridiculous spell sounding like " _Robin eggs, lavender ; sweet magic of Moon River ; Bubblegum, blue brownies, Toffee Eclair ; turn these peas in what I prefer_."

Scorpius glanced around, met the unkind stares of few Seventh years and slouched on the bench, not understanding why they looked like they were whispering about him. The other students seemed to care only about filling their stomachs or catching up after the summer holidays. You could hear gossip, giggles, jokes that would have hurt the delicate ears of his mother and _apparently_ at his table, _no one_ knew how to use a fork.

Ghosts were swirling under the magic starry ceiling, stirring cries of fear or delight that did not disturb the teachers absorbed by their dinner. A giant hare with mangy fur was watching over the Great Hall with severity, seated on the stool that had been used for the sorting out.

Nothing was like it was at home.

Golden plates instead of silver dishes, so much noise it would have been hard to hear the quartet of violins playing in a corner of the Malfoy's dining room... and then it was not his mother smiling at the end of the table, but a sullen teenager covered with pimples.

Scorpius's throat felt clogged. Everything, even going back on the lake in these coarse boats suddenly seemed preferable to stay in this castle buzzing new things and rude people.

\- "Hey", said a voice next to him. "Can you grab the fish cakes?"

He turned his head and met two big green eyes looking a bit worried.

\- "You okay?" asked the student with black tousled hair who had talked to him. "You don't look so good. Did you get seasick on the lake?"

It was another First year, not very tall and rather skinny - built like Scorpius was, actually. He had long dark eyelashes, a snub nose, some mayonnaise at the corner of his mouth and fingers flecked with crisps crumbs.

\- "Hey, you're _Albus_ , aren't you?" shouted another boy, leaning over his plate and pushing aside the girl with the brown curls who glared at him. "You're _Harry Potter_ 's son, aren't you? Wicked!"

This one had an Irish accent, freckles, close-cut hair and very clear blue eyes.

\- "I'm Craig Finnigan", he introduced himself, thumping his chest, regardless of his tie sweeping over chicken drumsticks. "Me father was in school with yours and me brother Colin's in his third year with your brother James," he added, pointing at a group of teenagers of their house, a few benches away.

One of them was casually running a hand in his mop of hair from time to time, obviously trying to get the attention of a fourth year of Hufflepuff who was stupidly giggling among her flock of tittering friends. He looked a bit like the boy sitting next to Scorpius, but in older and more... _arrogant_.

Albus smiled shyly at Finnigan, bravely bearing with the stares of wonder of the other students, and young Malfoy examined him, raising an eyebrow.

 _Potter._

 _The name his father abhorred._

Really, there was nothing to be impressed with.

\- "Harry Potter, that's the man who saved the world, isn't it?" asked the blond boy with glasses. "He defeated Lord Ventdemort. I read it in _Hogwarts: A History_."

The girl next to him did not look impressed at all. She had decided to try on the Homity pie and seemed to find it at her taste.

\- "Lord _Voldemort_ ", corrected someone in a shocked whisper.

Cold air crept under Scorpius' shirt.

 _That name, Draco Malfoy never mentioned it, but he hated even more, if that was possible._

\- "I hope we'll be in the same bedroom!" Craig Finnigan continued excitedly. "Me father would be so thrilled! Can I get an autograph?"

Albus protested, but no one listened to him because the desserts had suddenly appeared on the table, triggering a new startled yelp from the girl with brown curls.

This one was definitely Muggle born, but Scorpius did not want to make fun of her. He was tired from the long hours of train. His clothes were still slightly damp after crossing the lake under a cold drizzle. He was missing home and he had a headache.

He heaved a sigh of relief when the headmaster announced it was time to go to bed and hurried after their prefect to the door.

After a long hike in the cold corridors of Hogwarts and some scary episodes in the enchanted stairs - _the boy with glasses, whose name was Terrence Swanson, nearly fell into the void several times_ \- they finally arrived in front of the painting concealing the entrance to their common room. Scorpius scribbled on a piece of parchment the password given by the leprechaun who was riding a morose goat in a faded meadow, but the prefect severely confiscated all papers before reciting the rules of the dormitory.

\- "Before it was a fat lady", whispered a boy who had a name like Mule or Mulan - _Macmillan, perhaps?_ \- and someone sniggered: "the painting or the prefect?"

The Fifth year boy who was in charge of them glowered at them and warned them that it was the last time he would tolerate such insolence. He showed them the dormitories, explained their luggage would already be upstairs and went away muttering something about unbearable marmosets in diapers.

Scorpius found out he would share a room with Craig Finnigan, Terrence Swanson and... _Albus Potter_ , but he did not have time to worry about what would happen when his father would find out. There was too much to deal with.

First, Toughie, the bedraggled owl owned by the blond boy with glasses, began fluttering everywhere, uttering excited hoots and they had to shove down his throat some _Owl treats_ and blindfold him with a sock to make him stop and stay put.

Then the inexhaustible Irish boy started to cast permanent sticking charms on his Quidditch posters and only succeeded in tearing off half of his left eyebrow. He told them his father had blown up Hogwarts when he was in seventh grade and they pretended to believe him so he would let them tape up the posters.

In the bathroom, it was a mess again – splashes and comparing their toothbrushes: Swanson's one was supposed to be _elecfric_ , but it did not work, Potter's was shouting _Halloo!_ when it found a bunt and Finnigan owned toothpaste that smoked red and tasted like chili.

Finally, when Scorpius had finally managed to wash up his face and put on his pajamas, he found in between his sheets a sick looking ferret who planted its tiny sharp teeth into his hand.

\- "Spoon, there you are!" Albus cried with relief.

The nasty little creature snuggled against him, eyeing Malfoy whose eyes were widened in stunned anger.

\- "It _bit_ me!"

\- "Let me see", said Terrence. He gave an interested glance at the rodent rack- shaped bloody mark. "Oh, it's nothing, you'll survive."

\- "Maybe it has _rabies_ ", stammered Scorpius, out of it.

His nostrils were pinched and his eyes were glowing furiously, but internally he was fighting against a terrible urge to burst into tears.

\- "Spoon doesn't have rabies", protested Albus anxiously. "Well... I don't _think_ so. Do you want to go to the infirmary?"

\- "If it has rabies, then it's already too late", Finnigan chimed in happily.

Scorpius gasped. He spun around angrily and buried himself in his bed, pulling the curtains to no longer see them.

\- "Sorry", said the voice of that idiot Potter.

 _The worst part was that he sounded sincerely sorry._

There were rustling and whispers for a few more minutes, then the other three were also settled in their bed.

\- "I hope no one's snoring", said Craig. "I'm telling you, me father taught me a spell if it's the case. Apparently, there was a terrible snorer in his room when he was in school, so..."

\- "Do you ever stop talking?" groaned Terrence's voice.

\- "Er… I think I'm snoring. I'm sorry", Albus said shyly. "I don't do it on purpose, I promise."

\- "Too bad for you", solemnly announced Finnigan. "If you suffocate in your snot during the night, don't come asking why. I'm an expert at casting this spell, even when I'm asleep."

Scorpius rolled his eyes behind the wall of scarlet curtains. He let himself sink deeper under the covers, until only his nose was sticking out. The silly chatter of the others finally ended and silence fell in the room.

It was raining outside and a pale mist was rising behind the windows, like the vapor of a ghost. The blankets smelled weird and were itchy. In its cage, the tiny owl was dozing, swaying on its roost with small satisfied _'hooo hooo hooo'_.

There was a running scratching on the floor. No doubt it was the abominable ferret, snooping and ransacking in their open trunks.

Scorpius had never seen people as messy as his roommates. Life at Hogwarts was going to be hell. His parents had told him about the Slytherin common room, of its elegant green and silver furniture and of the shiny reflections of the lake rippling on the ceiling. And now he was stuck in the scarlet Gryffindor tower where everything seemed to be shabby, worn out, pilling.

He bit his lip to keep his chin from trembling, shut his eyelids very tight. He wanted to be at home, to feel his mother's soothing kiss on his forehead, to hear her soft footsteps in the dimly lit hallway. Isosceles, his cat, would be snuggled against him to keep him warm, he would breathed in the familiar scent of his bed and everything would have be perfect.

He clapped his hands over his mouth to stifle a sob.

 _Eleven. I'm eleven. I'm too big to cry._

But tears were swelling in his throat regardless of his age and they would soon overflow.

He did not know that in the other four-poster beds, Terrence was furtively wiping his eyes and Craig was sniffling as discreetly as possible.

They had had a long day, too many emotions, and they were far from their families, in a castle perched on a rock in the depths of Scotland.

There was no magic that could comfort three young wizards on their first night at boarding school.

But there was a miracle.

A peaceful purr, reassuring, that rose in the dark, pushing away the shadows. A sound that wrapped them in the wellness of a soft chocolate cake, of a ray of sunshine at the end of a summer day or of the soft embrace of their mothers.

At first, Scorpius thought it was the ferret. Then he pulled open the curtains of his bed, met the astonished gazes of Swanson and Finnigan who had imitated him, and realized he was mistaken.

Spoon was perched in the canopy above Potter's bed and was cleaning his scruffy fur, looking supremely bored.

It was _Albus_ who was making this strangely comforting throat sound. He was curled up under his blanket, his lips slightly parted, fast asleep.

Terrence put a finger on his lips and leaned back in his bed, quickly followed by Finnigan whose blue eyes were growing heavy with sleep.

Scorpius let his curtains drawn to keep watching from a distance the boy who was sleeping in the bed in front of his. He felt good, like in a cocoon, but a bit intrigued. He yawned, rubbed his eyes.

 _Had Albus felt the same distress as them? Did he know he was not snoring for real? Did he…_

Scorpius fell asleep without noticing and had none of the dreams that usually troubled him when he was in an unknown location.

The next day, when he awoke with a start, feeling the ferret nibble his ear, the pact was concluded between the occupants of the room.

 _It would be their secret._

And Scorpius held onto this during the long grueling weeks that followed.

Before the end of the first half-term, Scorpius knew _why_ his father hated the name Potter. If Harry was anything like his son James, that was not surprising.

 _Scorpius had not asked for anything._

He had deliberately step aside as he watched the budding friendship between Terrence and Albus, and had not try to be included in the trio formed by Craig Finnigan, Samuel Flinch-Fletchley and Fabius Macmillan, two boys from the dorm next door who looked like they were high on sugar all the time. He was not used to frequent other children and had learned to fade in the background in the presence of grown-ups. As a result, he had mastered the art of being invisible, even when he wished to be involved.

 _Yet James Potter's gang was always watching him._

Two weeks after the school had started, Scorpius was sporting a bump the size of a pigeon's egg. When asked what had happened, he would say he was a stupid accident with a drawer, but the truth was James and his buddy Colin had tried to push his head down Moaning Myrtle's toilet.

By the end of September, someone had exchanged all his quills for Weasley gimmicks and was getting scolded each time the teachers gave them back their homework: his were filled with obscenities and spelling mistakes, when not downright insulting the professors.

In the Great Hall, he had learn to use elaborate ruses to bring back his dinner to his table without having it spread on the front of his robes. For some unknown reason, James Potter liked especially when it was a treacle tart that ended plastered in Malfoy's hair. After a few weeks, even the simple smell of caramel gave Scorpius nauseas.

The following month, he slept in a swimsuit in spite of the fact the temperature had gone down considerably: every night there were new frogs in his mattress that now smelled of rotten seaweed. He ended up getting sick, and when the other three explained to the nurse in what state was the dormitory, Hannah Abbott decided to put them in the infirmary for the weekend, while she would clean up the room. Scorpius felt utterly relieved yet overwhelmed with shame. His face buried under his pillow to muffle the sound of his sobs, he could barely hear Albus' familiar purring in the next bed and he was feeling terribly alone and miserable.

Some Seventh years joined Potter's gang in November and the persecution took an even more vicious turn. Scorpius hated especially when they were saying awful things about his father's past. James did not seem to fully understand why it was so much fun, but he would sneer, running a hand in his untidy hair and encouragethe others. On Halloween's night, they cornered Scorpius in a broom closet and drew something horrible on his left arm with indelible ink. When he decided to show the drawing to the nurse, she nearly fainted. She scrubbed it with a nasty spell, almost ripping off his skin, and severely warned she would have to report it to the headmaster. Scorpius felt even worse, like if this was his fault.

Mrs McGonagall never called him to her office, but he felt many times her piercing gaze on him in the Great Hall.

His tormentors left the castle for the Christmas holidays, but Scorpius wrote to his parents he did not want to go home. He was not yet ready to face his father, especially after the polite but cold letter he had received after telling them in which house he had been sorted. And even if he was dying to snuggle in his mother's arms, he knew he would never have the courage to go back to school if he saw her.

Christmas holidays were strange. In the Gryffindor Tower were only left a few students studying hard for their O.W.L and N.E.W.T and - Wendy Philips.

The girl with brown curls had soon proved she was not the scaredy cat she had seemed to be during their first dinner at Hogwarts. In fact, there was probably _nothing_ that she was afraid to face – except maybe her schoolbooks. She was crawling at the bottom of school rankings with a string of T, but she reaped points for Gryffindor in all classes where you needed to be mad to volunteer. She was the first to successfully fly on a broom and the last to come back – in rags but victorious - when they had to pass a test in a maze.

She was not a fussy _mademoiselle_ nor a stupid tomboy either. In fact, Scorpius thought she was quite okay for a female creature and if he was ever to have a sister, he probably would have liked her to be a bit like Wendy, except of course, a girl whose shoes were always muddy and whose fingers were always stained with ink would not readily be accepted in _Malfoy Manor_.

Wendy was never making fun of Scorpius' pale complexion or of his almost white blond hair. She never chuckled when he arrived late for class, hastily putting back in place his robes. She did not look sorry like Albus who looked at him from afar in the Great Hall, or serious like Terrence when he was blowing warm air under the desk to dry Scorpius' soaked socks after an ambush in the bathroom (Malfoy feared - _and hoped despite himself_ \- that the genius blond boy who had guessed it all would go denounce Potter's gang to the professors).

Wendy was clumsy like Scorpius, but she laughed at her mistakes or threatened to _smash_ down people when they laughed at her – when he could only stare at the ground, hoping his cheeks would not set fire to his hair.

At Christmas, she gave him _Made in China_ brass knuckles and advised him to use them if anyone _bothered_ him. Scorpius laughed in spite of himself, picturing James Potter with two panda eyes and Wendy looked pleasantly surprised. She told him it was the first time she'd seen him laugh since September and he frowned.

He was eager to grow up and finally leave this darned Hogwarts. Maybe at summer holidays, if he could gather enough courage, he would ask his parents if he could be transferred to _Beaux Bâtons_ or any _other_ school of magic.

 _Some place where there would no one named Potter._

In January, this painful desire completely changed.

In January, he was late again for _Potions_ , running and panting in distraught: Pernickety Nick was well known for his bad temper and his spittle could turn sour the best preparation.

In January, in the hallway leading to the dungeons, he found Albus Potter, crouched in front of a stone wall.

* * *

 ** _TBC_**

* * *

 ** _Next chapter (2/3)_** ** _: The Skylark_**

 ** _The title of this story is a quote from "The Little Prince"._**


	2. The Skylark

**THE SKYLARK**

* * *

The youngest son of the hero was nothing like his brother. First, he was six months late, if one considered that his birthday was in April. He was kind, clumsy and _very_ shy. He was spending most of his time buried in books or listening to his friend Terrence's constant new theories. He did not seem at all interested in the fame associated with his name, turned a scarlet shade when a teacher exclaimed "Oh, you look exactly like your father at the same age!" and the other students had quickly tired of his lack of charisma. He feared his brother almost as much as Scorpius, if one could believe in the alarmed glances he threw around when James stepped in the Gryffindor common room. And last, rumor had it that he was afflicted with the _curse of Cinderella_.

Terrence had researched it in the library - _his favorite place_ \- but he had returned empty-handed. Apparently the disease was not listed anywhere and belonged more to the domain of gossip than that of medicine.

Albus Potter loved pets, like many other children his age. What was not normal was the love the _creatures_ had for him. The dormitory was ruled by Fabius Macmillan's cat and the unsympathetic ferret Spoon, which prevented rats from squatting the place, but you often came across hopping ecstatic toads when you walked to class with him, or saw mice and spiders busy hugging the walls to follow him.

The Gryffindor table was prone to storms of owls whenever it was mail time – _getting_ _droppings in your plate was not pleasant and Albus' had hair looked more untidy than ever when he reappeared after these twisters of feathers and beaks_ \- and during _Transfiguration_ , sometimes you could see cups rubbing against his ankles or watches that were trying to fly to his desk.

Scorpius had no problem with that: he always felt rather relieved when a wave of owls diverted the attention of the others and he could take care of his meals or homework without having to watch his back.

The persecutions had slow down after the Christmas holidays. There were rumors of a letter allegedly sent by the principal to the parents of every seventh year students. It was whispered that an investigation was conducted into the upper classes to discover the perpetrator of a heinous act. Nobody knew what the deed had been, however. Scorpius was not interested in Hogwarts' gossip: all that mattered to him was that he could venture into the corridors of the castle, alone, without falling into an ambush.

Well, at least most of the time. Today had not been the case.

\- "You'll be fine, don't worry."

He stopped a few meters from Albus and watched him, intrigued. The boy with tousled black hair had left his bag and books next to him on the stone tiles and was leaning over something he held on his lap. The hallway was dark and only a sunbeam passing through a basement window gave some light to the wall smeared by smoky torches.

\- "There. It's done. D'you think you'll find your way back?"

Albus stood up and stretched his arms to hold something to the height of the basement window.

\- "Too small", Scorpius commented before he had time to stop himself.

He frowned and tried to look casual when the other boy turned to him, surprised.

\- "Oh, Malfoy. I didn't know you were there."

Albus' green eyes lit up and he suddenly grinned.

\- "Good ! Can you help me?"

\- "We're late", said Scorpius stupidly.

A drop of water slid from his hair and melted into his wet wizard robes: a half dozen dungbombs had fallen on him when he was passing near the Astronomy Tower – _some_ _fourth years who were bored in class, probably_ \- and he had just spent fifteen minutes cleaning himself in the bathroom. He had the feeling the stench was still floating around him and swallowed back nausea.

\- "I know we're late", Albus said hurriedly. "I don't want to get into trouble either. But if we ignore it, a cat will surely eat it."

He opened his hands and Scorpius saw he was holding a wounded skylark.

\- "It was going _trlit, trlit_ , as if it was crying", explained the black-haired boy with a voice full of compassion. "Its leg's broken. I put up a splint. I think it should be able to fly up to its nest, if we can help it out of the basement window."

Two red and yellow woolen strands were twisted around a wooden splinter at the leg of the bird that was breathing heavily, its beak slightly open, its flanks palpitating.

\- "You should leave it to fend for itself", Scorpius said brusquely. "The others will cast it out if it has a different smell."

His heart was pounding in his chest.

\- "Oh", Albus stammered. "I didn't think about that…"

His green eyes looked concerned for a while, then brightened again.

\- "We could bring it to Professor Migden, she'd know what to do!"

Scorpius rolled his eyes.

\- "Yes, but not _now_. We're _late_ ", he repeated, articulating to emphasize the seriousness of their situation. "Late for _Pernickety Nick_ 's class."

\- "I forgot", Albus winced.

He picked up his books, put the strap of his bag over his shoulder and carefully slipped the skylark in the large pocket of his robes, after swaddling it in a handkerchief. Then he smiled, as if Scorpius had done something great, and walked to the door of the dungeon.

The classroom was filled with thick gray smokes, but it did not prevent the professor from identifying them as soon as they entered.

\- " _At last_ !" he sneered as he came to them, his pointed shoes clicking on the stone tiles. "Are _these_ _gentlemen_ done strolling around the castle premises? Will they deign to do us the grace of their company?"

He was still quite far from them when they were sprinkled by the first spittle. Scorpius narrowed his eyes and Albus did his best to not turn his head.

Polycarpus Flaubert always held himself with his shoulders hunched and his belly slumping forward. He combed the three hairs on his skull with gluey gel and wore an old-fashioned plaid suit. He was as bony as a Patagonykus skeleton, walked like a duck and his breath reeked.

\- "Perhaps _these gentlemen_ need some detention time to help them remember that classes are not a far-fetched option of their cruising at Hogwarts?"

His -p and -f caused each time new flights of nauseating drops and even the giggling students behind their cauldrons began to feel sorry for the latecomers.

\- "Well, well. Since everyone else is already divided in pairs, you will work together", said Flaubert when he no longer had enough breath. He inhaled through his mouth, snorted, then looked at them curiously, as if he had just realized _who_ was standing in front of him. " _Potter and Malfoy_. Let's see what you can accomplish when you're thrown into the same cauldron."

Scorpius was a bit worried he meant that _literally_ , but his anxiety dimmed down when the teacher went off to give Samuel Flinch-Fletchley an earful.

The blond boy went to the rickety table at the back of the room, on which were the ingredients for the potion. Albus put his bag on a stool and fished the swaddled skylark out of his pocket.

\- "It's going to be okay", he whispered warmly, before putting it safely on a shelf, between two dusty jars.

And, again, his teammate thought the words were addressed to him. He cleared his throat, more from embarrassment to the troubling comforting feeling it was stirring in him than because of the smoke surrounding them.

\- "We should start", he said. "The others are twenty minutes ahead of us. I don't understand _how_ he can know exactly _how many_ we are and _still_ confuse us all the time..."

Albus chuckled. He poured in the cauldron the amount of water and baking soda the recipe requested and lit the fire with his wand, while Scorpius pulled on his gloves to tackle the nettle roots.

They worked in silence for a while. Somewhere in the sulphurous fog, Craig Finnigan had blown up yet _another_ cauldron. Wendy, disheveled, her cheeks stained with the purple juice of carbobrotis, was frowning, biting her lips, trying to decrypt the instructions. Terrence was whistling, stirring the blue paste bubbling in his cauldron, without listening to Polycarpus Flaubert's lamentations. Terrence had the highest ratings of the class in most subjects, but he made their _Potions_ teacher pull off his – almost inexistent - hair: he never came to the _right_ result but, curiously, his concoctions always showed interesting.

The clock was ticking inexorably and the teacher suddenly announced that he would begin his tour.

\- "How many seeds do I have to add?" hurriedly asked Albus, ready to empty his cutting board in their quietly bubbling potion.

\- "Five. No ! Four and a half", Scorpius corrected after a quick glance at the manual. "Sorry."

Albus grinned.

\- "It doesn't matter", he said gently.

Scorpius cleared his throat and pointed to the line of the recipe that threatened them with the worst consequences if they were wrong in the number of cenedrine seeds.

\- "But it does", he said sternly.

Albus giggled again.

\- "I'm glad I've been paired with you", he said as casually as if he had asked for the salt.

Scorpius blushed. Behind them on the shelf, the skylark was widening its bean eyes under yellow feather brows. It struggled to get off the handkerchief and managed to stand. Ruffling its wings, the bird hopped on one leg to the edge of the shelf.

Polycarpus Flaubert emerged from the gray mist like the dreadful figurehead of a Viking ship. He sniffed their potion which had a bright golden shade. He twirled his wand above it, examined the spiral, groaned cryptically, then levied a sample that he stocked away carefully.

\- "It's a disaster", he concluded, satisfied, going towards the back room that was his office. "You'd kill more plants than beetles with this _sauce_."

Albus and Scorpius shared a dismayed glance. But they had no time to protest that the recipe announced a draft of a yellow sunflower shade and that they had certainly done better than Violet Morgensten whose cauldron was filled with pink stringy liquid, or than Fabius Macmillan whose potion was crawling away like a swamp monster.

There was a distinct "splash!" followed by a cry of horror.

\- "PROFESSOR! A _bird_ fell in my cauldron!" Miranda Brown squealed, stepping back instead of helping the skylark drowning in her potion.

\- "Don't try to be interesting, Miss Pond", answered Ploycarpus Flaubert distractedly, from the small room where he was labelling the samples.

There was a moment of shocked silence, then everything became a shambles.

Albus had run to save the skylark and now he was hissing in pain, his hands red and covered with blisters. Terrence rushed to him and, after a quick glance around, grabbed a phial on a shelf and emptied its content on his friend's palms. The skin began to smoke but the contorted face of the wounded boy relaxed a bit. Wendy was trying to fish out the bird with a ladle and the others were all talking at once. Craig Finnigan was single-handedly making more noise than a dozen students.

Scorpius swallowed hard and his brain emptied any coherent thought. His face froze like a mask and his legs started to move by themselves. Without taking his eyes off Albus who was breathing through clenched teeth, he forced his way to the office, entered without knocking and stood next to the teacher who did not spare him a look.

\- "Professor, I need to take Potter to the infirmary", he said sharply.

\- "Don't be silly", retorted Polycarpus Flaubert, busy putting the final touch to a label on a phial, frowning and pushing his tongue through his damaged teeth. "We're going to work on another potion in a minute; you don't have time to go to the bathroom, Eric."

\- "Professor, I don't think you understand", insisted Scorpius, raising his voice to be heard over the din of voices coming from the other room. "There was an _accident_."

Irritated, the teacher looked up from his arabesques of ink.

\- "What have you come up with, this time?" he barked.

Scorpius gravely wiped the spittle on his face with his sleeve.

\- "Potter put his hands in a pot of _Recens Hortus_ , sir. Requesting permission to take him to the infirmary."

\- "Billions of blistering barnacles!" gasped Polycarpus Flaubert, opening horrified eyes and letting go of the bottle he was holding. The phial crashed on the stone tiles with a small sound of explosion. "Yes, of course you can! You must! Go immediately! _No_ , wait, wash the irritated areas with essence of..."

\- "Done", cut in impatiently the voice of Terrence. "Malfoy, move your arse. I think the bird will soon kick the bucket and..."

He had an eloquent look. Scorpius immediately understood.

 _And if the skylark dies, Albus will be devastated._

He hastened to the classroom, grabbed the box that Wendy was holding out to him and in which was convulsing the bird wrapped in a pungent-smelling soaked handkerchief, and stormed out, Albus in tow.

They ran breathlessly in the corridors of Hogwarts. From time to time, Scorpius heard a muffled moan somewhere on his left and he prayed with all his heart that the little creature would survive.

Scorpius had never even _sniffed_ in front of his persecutors. He did not want to witness their nasty joy if he broke down. He often cried, more from frustration than pain, but first assured to be safe under his pillow. Even though he was called "the sickly scrawny blonde," he was regarded as a tough kid.

Craig Finnigan, Terrence Swanson and the other boys of their age would have died of shame before being called "whiny": they turned their heads uneasily when a girl wailed after a fall in flying class or winced, accusing the wind / dust / whatever came to their minds when they were scratched or pinched in _Herbology_.

Albus, however, had no such restraint. He was walking with his heart on his sleeve, like a living ball of emotions, and constantly questioned their attitude, never noticing that he was doing so: if he was happy, he laughed. If he was upset, he burst into tears.

When tears welled up in his green eyes, something extremely odd always happened. The first time, Scorpius had thought he was the only one affected, then he realized the other students also seemed to feel the same surge of compassion, the same need to _do_ something.

Even _James Potter_ looked taken aback when his brother's eyes blurred up and he hastened to change the subject or walked away, like if he was afraid he'd soften.

Scorpius was glad that at least _one person_ in the world was able to unsettle his worst enemy, but he would have preferred not to be _also_ invaded by the unbearable feeling, as if making Albus cry was as cruel as killing a unicorn. As if one could _not_ allow such innocence to be broken.

\- "Almost there", he wheezed, trying not to slow down, despite the burning pain in his side.

Albus did not answer.

In the box, the skylark was shaking, its beak wide-open and its eyes rolling in their sockets. Its feathers were blackened and the skin of its neck was raw.

When they finally got to Greenhouse 3, Professor Migden was seeing off her last student from _Ravenclaw_ and she frowned seeing them tumble in, out of breath.

\- "This bird fell into a cauldron of _Recens Hortus_ ", explained Scorpius, breathless, pushing the box in the teacher's hands. "We _must_ save it. _Please_."

He swallowed, straightened with a wince, then grabbed Albus' wrist.

\- "I have to take Potter to the infirmary", he added, and off they went before the woman could ask anything.

Scorpius' brain was still as empty as if it was filled with white paste. He had no idea what had taken him, but he did not want to stop to think about it. The dangerous word _why_ could wait. For now, all that mattered was how the skylark and Albus were doing.

 _"It's going to be okay."_

When they entered with a bang, the nurse immediately put down the spoon and cough syrup she was going to give to a sixth grader who had a dripping nose and was surrounded by a mountain of handkerchiefs. She hurried toward them, lifting her blue dress and pointed at the nearest bed. For a while she got busy, rumbling about the dangers of practical work then, when she had bathed Albus' hands in three different concoctions and coated them with a cream that smelled of peppermint, she went off to fetch strips of gauze and left them alone.

Albus was sitting on the edge of the mattress, his head down, his legs dangling, and he held his palms like an offering. Scorpius, who had stayed out of the way so far, came to the bed, plopped on it and lightly touched his shoulder.

\- "Hey", he said awkwardly.

Albus did not move and Scorpius felt his heart sink. Tears were rolling down the cheeks of the boy with black hair, dampening the collar of his shirt.

\- "Don't cry", the blond boy tried again in a quavering voice.

\- "It's my fault", Albus muttered, still staring at the ground. "It's all my fault…"

Scorpius raised an eyebrow.

\- "It's not true", he protested. "You couldn't guess the bird would run off and fall in Amelia Pond's cauldron."

\- "Miranda Brown", Albus corrected absently. He snuffled, then lifted his chin and the other boy froze at the guilt he read in the so dark green eyes. "Sorry."

\- "I don't get it", Scorpius said flatly.

Albus shook his head. His face was pale, tense with pain and intense distress coming out of nowhere.

\- "I'm s-sorry", he stuttered. "You shouldn't... I should have... you w-were all alone... it's not fair..."

Scorpius stared at him for a moment before he began to understand. Then his cheeks caught fire.

\- "It has nothing to do with you", he muttered.

\- "We should have told a teacher or protected you", Albus insisted feverishly. "I was s-scared... but you… you helped me... I wish I were as brave as you... thank you... and... I'm s-sorry..."

There was a lump in Scorpius' throat, a clump of giggles or of sobs.

The white haze in his brain tore open under a beam of warm and happy light.

The world suddenly became a less dark, less sad, less lonely place.

He choked on the sudden realization.

He had just understood that for the first time in his life, he had accomplished something. For the first time in his life, he had not just bear with what was happening, he had not tried to hide, he had stepped forward.

 _It was like setting foot on a new land and discovering it belonged to you._

He offered a weak smile to Albus.

\- "Don't cry", he repeated, and his voice was becoming stronger with every new breath he drew. "It was not your fault. Neither the skylark or _the_ _others_... I'm fine. It's okay."

The words were dancing in his head despite the headache that was soon to hatch, inevitable result of this agitation.

 _"You'll be fine."_

 _"I'm glad I've been paired with you."_

Albus was eleven and a half, his nose was red, his eyes puffy with tears and he was holding himself in a weird way because of his hands covered with blisters, but Scorpius thought he looked like a hero.

Not the kind of hero who attacks head-on and beats the bad guys to the pulp - _that was Wendy_ \- not the kind of hero who has answers to every question in the world – _that was Terrence_. He was not cool and funny like Craig Finnigan, and _definitely_ _not_ a detestable show-off adored by his fans like James Potter.

No, Albus was different. He was shy and clumsy and there were tons of things he did not understand or was frightened of, but he _saw_ you. With your troubles, with your flaws, as you were. And he found you interesting. He even offered you his friendship. He showed you that you were able to take your destiny in your own hands - and all of this without knowing how amazing he was.

 _Yes, making Albus cry was a crime. You had_ no right _to hurt someone who did not suspect evil, who believed in everyone, who tried to do good and was angry with himself when he could not._

Scorpius clenched his fists and lifted his chin.

Mrs Abbot chose that moment to come back and she frowned.

\- "What's happening here?" she asked sternly. "Did you have a fight?"

They shook their heads in a beautiful ensemble.

\- "I hope so", said the nurse, examining them carefully. "So, now, you ( _she pushed her finger in Albus' chest_ ) you'll make me glad by lying down, and you ( _she gave a flick to Scorpius' forehead_ ) you'll quickly go back to class. My word, aren't you two small and skinny! Don't children eat soup nowadays?"

Scorpius combed back his hair with a grimace and fled after the second warning from the nurse.

He had lingered behind to mouth silently: "I'll go check on the skylark, I'll be back."

"Thank you," Albus had replied the same way.

The days that followed, the words kept bubbling warmly inside Scorpius. The skylark was slowly recovering and Professor Migden allowed them to visit it as often as they wished. Scorpius never tired of walking alongside the other three, a little behind, watching them laughing and chatting together.

From time to time, Albus would turn and he would just smile and wave him to come closer.

It was like having friends.

Terrence was trying to convince Scorpius to go denounce his tormentors to the headmaster, but the blond boy disliked the idea. _Was it really necessary?_ When he was with Albus, James did not make fun of him and the Seventh years were now keeping at a distance.

Life was so much better.

Winter melted on the hills around Hogwarts and spring began to pop out in small green and pink buds.

It was hard to study in the Gryffindor common room always full of noise, of unpacked _Skiving Snackboxes_ and of mini-explosions, so Scorpius took refuge in their bedroom. Often, he found there Albus reading on the windowsill, Fabius Macmillan's cat curled up on his knees and the ferret snuggled on his shoulder. Scorpius would then sit on the stone tiles next to the window and study in quiet happiness, while golden dust twirled peacefully in a sunbeam.

 _And that was enough._

 _He did not need more._

He tried not to take too much space, found excuses that scraped his throat like fishbone not to be _all the time_ with them, did not sit at the same table - he did not want them to get tired of him.

He was not telling them when the gang cornered him. He claimed he was allergic to pollen when they brushed his face with caterpillars behind Greenhouse 5 and he had a rash because of it. The nurse did not believe him but he stuck to his story. He did not want to become a tattletale like Kevin Mordecrat and to be even more cast out.

He always feared that one day the dream would collapse.

The lark took off the first really hot and sunny day and Professor Migden said it was a good omen, that skylarks symbolized the glow of a new dawn and that their wings were carrying the dearest wishes of humanity.

Scorpius prayed with all his heart.

 _He wanted to be the person Albus had seen in him._

 _He wanted to believe he could be._

 _He would not let go._

 _If he could find the courage to come a little closer... if it was not being too greedy..._

But surely the skylark could not fly away carrying that many desires, so he resigned himself to keep on living bravely.

On _Platform 9 3/4_ , the last day of the school year, after he had kissed his very moved mother and awkwardly greeted his father who was watching him sternly, Scorpius gestured to call Albus and introduce him to his family. But in the blur of sunlight and vapor, he saw him running toward a man who looked exactly like him.

\- "Oh! It's Harry Potter!" cried an excited voice.

Draco stiffened and his wife worriedly touched his hand. James, who was nonchalantly heading towards his family, turned round.

 _"See you in September, Malfoy"_ he mouthed with a sneer.

Then a stone fell inside Scorpius as he watched Albus disappear in the cloud of smoke, without a backward glance, nestled under his father's arm.

Then he knew it was over.

After summer holidays, he would be forgotten.

* * *

 ** _TBC_**

* * *

 ** _Next chapter (3/3)_** ** _: SECRETS_**


	3. Secrets

**SECRETS**

* * *

But he was wrong.

In the train to Hogwarts, the door of his compartment flew open and when he looked up from his book with a start, the place was already invaded. Craig Finnigan was chewing the head of a chocolate frog, while talking Quidditch with Samuel Flinch-Fletchley. Terrence Swanson was pulling something long, sticky and blue out of his nose under the disgusted eyes of Fabius Macmillan. Wendy Philips had gotten rid of the silk ribbon holding back her perfect brown curls and had already donned a loose sweater over her posh dress. Toughie was hopping in his cage, hooting piercingly to taunt the cat locked in her basket... and Albus had just dropped on the seat next to Scorpius.

Spoon the ferret popped his devious head out of his master's pocket and rattled his sharp teeth when he saw Scorpius' grimace.

\- "Hi", said Albus with his usual bright smile. "We looked for you everywhere. Did you have a good time over summer?"

Scorpius, who had spent the last two months hearing his parents fight with his grandparents, only shrugged.

\- "Oh", Albus said with compassion.

He took a foil ball out of his _other_ pocket and unfolded it carefully.

\- "Do you want some fish cake?" he asked, apparently believing this was the solution to all problems.

Scorpius felt his throat tickle.

\- "No, thank you. You better give it to Fabius' cat", he answered very seriously.

But a chuckle had just hatched inside his chest, warm and comforting, and he found himself enjoying the merry din around them.

 _He had not been forgotten._

Things did not get easier, though. Their homework had doubled, the teachers were less forgiving and the weather seemed to be trying to establish a lackluster record: an icy mist clung to the windows with persistence and a thick fog rose from the hard and cold ground. Sometimes, crows fell in the fireplace or bugs tried to find refuge in the dormitory: Spoon chased after them, uttering piercing cries that woke the boys in the middle of the night.

During first term, the persecution resumed. Scorpius made such a grand treacle slip in the dining room that he was forced to write his parents in a joking tone about it, for fear the information would reach them from another source. His mother seemed to have guessed, one way or another, that he was tormented at school. He was so afraid she would get sick from worry that he preferred to tell her the truth - somewhat embroidered - rather than have her learn about it from a Slytherin student's family. And he definitely did not want his father – and his grandfather – to know he was bullied.

Then suddenly, without warning, the persecution stopped. Scorpius felt a little guilty that he was relieved, thinking that perhaps the seniors were now tormenting first years. Then he heard Kevin Mordecrat say he had overheard the headmistress giving an earful to her staff. According to the tattletale, the old lady was beside herself and was shouting from the top of her lungs: "Let us be vigilant! We're no longer in the days when students could raise _arachnids_ in their closets or prepare _Polyjuice Potion_ in the ladies' bathroom! The precious children of this time of peace should be able to study in the _best_ of environments!"

Scorpius made a mental note to ask his father about _his_ schooling. He had _never_ heard speak of events as foolish and wondered what kind of wacky headmaster had preceded Minerva McGonagall and let such things happen.

Free from the constant fear of abuses, Scorpius made rapid progress in class. He was a natural worker and loved to study. In _History of Magic_ , he even got better grades than Terrence. He was one of the few to resist when the rest of the class succumbed to Professor Binns' soporific voice. But this was nothing to be proud of, however. He would have preferred to cover himself with glory in another class or to be as cool as Quidditch players.

As soon as the announcement had been made that Second years could come forward, Wendy had tried out to be part of the Gryffindor team and had dragged along Albus and Terrence. Swanson had completely failed the tests – _it had been no surprise: the genius brain seemed capable of anything except coordinating his arms and legs_ \- but the other two had been taken as Chasers. Scorpius had been careful not to imitate them: he was doing pretty good on a broom, but James Potter was part of the team and you had to be mental to go risk your life in the sky when _someone_ could easily pretend they _did not mean_ to knock you out with a bat...

For Christmas, Scorpius went back to Malfoy Manor and bore with his grandfather's sour comments with stoicism. He had the surprise of a chat with his father on the balcony, away from their guests and to hear praise for his good grades in _History of Magic_. Unlike Lucius, Draco Malfoy did not talk about Quidditch, even if his son had glimpsed him gazing thoughtfully at an old picture of the Slytherin team.

They made a trip to the _Forest of Broceliande_ on New Year's Eve and Scorpius relished the walk under the trees coated with glittering frost. His breath puffed like a small bright cloud and he was holding the hand of his mother who walked smiling gently, wrapped in white fur and wearing a fleecy toque like a Russian queen. Draco was reading aloud the magical inscriptions that appeared along the path to educate the visitors and, from time to time, he would lightly ruffle the blond hair of his son.

In February, for his birthday, Craig Finnigan gave a party in the dorms. It abruptly ended when the ferret, who had stolen too many _Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans_ , started to vomit rainbows in every corner. Terrence, the king of the _Scouring_ charm cleaned up, laughing while Albus apologized a thousand times. Spoon was put on a diet and stayed quiet for a few days. Scorpius ate so many pumpkin pasties and gingerbread that he nearly got sick too. He thought this had been the best birthday party he had ever attended.

It was no longer _enough_ to look at the others from a distance so, one day at lunch, Scorpius resolutely picked up his plate and went to sit at the same table as the ones he dared not call "friends". Terrence gave him a wink, Wendy happily shoved her elbow in his side and nearly cut his breath and Albus offered him a bright smile. At the end of the bench, Craig Finnigan had just swallowed his chanterelle flan and orange smoke was coming out of his ears.

May and June spun at high speed and summer holidays came back again. But this time, on the Platform 9 3/4, Scorpius did not feel his insides knot painfully. He kissed his mother with impetuosity, got into the elegant _coupe_ and spent the evening telling them all about his school year, forgetting to eat some _Strawberry Trifle_ \- his favorite dessert specially prepared by the elves. His grandfather looked astonished. His grandmother was dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief and from time to time, she would let go of a fond chuckle. Draco was sitting very straight in his Empire armchair by the fireplace. He was twirling a _Firewhiskey_ glass between his fingers and his face betrayed no emotion, but Scorpius could read in his mother's gaze that his father was happy.

Over summer, he made a sudden growth spurt and spent hours admiring his new stature in the mirror of his wardrobe, ignoring the mocking comments of it. He however felt ridiculous when he joined the others in their compartment in the _Hogwarts Express_ , on September the 1st. They had all grown up, especially Albus who was now taller than Terrence, but Scorpius was _still_ the smallest. Wendy assured him that he was the one who was doing best, that at least he did not look like a lanky scarecrow - but he did not find it particularly comforting.

When the old castle appeared, cut like a Chinese shadow on the flamboyant autumn sky, they stuck their noses against the windows, oddly touched. Scorpius wondered if growing up always had that effect: a mixture of excitement and nostalgia was bubbling in his belly and he felt like he would do great things during his third year.

Of course, nothing of the sort occurred.

There were some changes: they were now thirteen, which meant they were finally allowed to go to Hogsmeade: it was a topic of endless conversation. _Girls_ also had become more interesting - except Wendy, who was not really considered as such, given the drubbing she'd give you if you commented on her (non-existent) curves or on the feminine gender in general.

Their toothbrushes were not anymore what they compared in the bathroom and Craig Finnigan had stuck pictures next to his old posters of Quidditch that made the heat in the room go up a notch. The elves took them off regularly, but fortunately there were always new undergarment pages in the _Witch Weekly_.

But overall, routine had resumed: lessons, tons of homework and little free time to stroll by the lake in the warm and pleasant breeze. New Seventh years were after Scorpius in between classes and James Potter, who had a good reason to be frustrated, was making his favorite whipping boy miserable whenever he met him alone in a hallway.

The Gryffindor seeker having graduated, Quidditch tryouts were arranged. Then Jeremy Shacklebolt, the new captain, announced James would stay a chaser and that the younger Potter would now be their seeker. For a moment it looked like Albus would refuse the position he had nevertheless made every effort to win, then he shot a strange dark look to his big brother and shook the hand held out to him.

That night, the familiar purr did not lull them and when Terrence and Craig finally fell asleep, Scorpius sat up in bed, his chin propped on his crossed arms, his knees pulled up under his blanket. For a long time he watched the motionless shape of Albus in the bluish darkness, wondering if he would dare to go talk to him, trying to understand why the black-haired boy seemed so grim.

Then he probably fell asleep too, for he woke up the next morning in the bedroom flooded in sunlight when Albus shook his shoulder, saying they were going to be late for S _tudy of Ancient Runes_.

In third year, they had to choose elective courses. Scorpius noticed that Wendy had not taken the same as Albus and that Terrence had deliberately registered in the same as Wendy. So, naturally, he enrolled in the same as Albus.

When they were going up the steps of the long spiral staircase that led them to _Study of Ancient Runes_ , Scorpius always felt a bit drunk. A strange joy fizzed in his stomach and he giggled like a stupid pixie. No one else had taken this elective course in Gryffindor and Rosie Weasley, the only girl they knew, sat with her friends from Ravenclaw. So Scorpius and Albus often found themselves working together on translations. Dust was billowing over their huge syllabary dictionaries, floating in bright sprinkles in the pale light of winter. The sound of pages turned and of quills scribbling on parchment was something peaceful, sweet, perfectly happy.

On top of the tower, they were far from everything and Scorpius loved this exhilarating feeling of freedom.

 _As if he owned the world. As if there was nothing to hide, nothing to pretend, nothing more to desire._

From time to time, Albus looked up from his homework and smiled.

 _To him – only to him._

Autumn gave way to winter. The twelve Christmas trees rose in the Great Hall, dusted with snow that tasted like powdered sugar. Over the frozen lake, the bells tinkled merrily as sleds carried teachers and students to Hogsmeade. Albus, Scorpius and Terrence bought a whole load of sweets and got attacked by the rabid dog that guarded _Honeydukes_ backyard when they were looking for a shortcut to go to the _Three Broomsticks_. Something strange happened then, something none of them could explain. They fared without a scratch, to the surprise of the owner who came out in haste upon hearing the ferocious barking and who found his mastiff whining and drooling, rolling at the feet of Albus like a puppy.

Wendy brought back a bottle of butterbeer for Lily Potter, who was in first year in Gryffindor and the girl gave her a radish necklace that looked like the one their new _Transfiguration_ teacher, Luna Lovegood, was wearing.

In January, as mysteriously as in the years before, James and the Seventh years stopped making life complicated for Scorpius. He had learned to defend himself by then, but he was relieved not to have to watch his back in the hallways or to have to throw anti-smudge charms on his dissertations in case they would end up wet or trampled by muddy shoes.

In March, Spoon died. Even though the ferret had always been nasty with him, something pinched Scorpius' heart when he realized the small creature was curled up, stiff and cold, in the fold of the canopy where it usually slept.

In the pale morning light that bathed the terribly silent room, Albus, barefoot, wearing his pajamas, his black hair tousled as usual, cradled the ferret in his arms. He did not utter a word, but hot tears streamed down his cheeks, pearling at his long dark eyelashes.

Scorpius felt like his heart was going to break. Craig Finnigan muttered it was really sad and stared at the floor. Terrence fished an empty shoebox from under his bed, stuffed it with cotton wool and offered it to serve as a coffin.

When they left the Gryffindor common room with Lily and Wendy, they passed by James who was playing with a quaffle ( _he had not touched a golden snitch since his brother had become Seeker_ ) lying casually on the scarlet sofa. He straightened up and sniggered, asking if they had planned enough seats for all the rats, lizards and other creatures that would surely come to the funeral "to give support to their Cinderella in her loss."

Scorpius had felt fear, hatred and disgust toward Potter, but for the first time in his life, he felt _pity_ for him. James might have been athletic, cool, popular and good-looking, he would never have what Albus possessed. People easily became friends with him, they covered him with compliments and sought his admiration, but they gave him no real loyalty.

Scopius was certain that if _James_ had been crying, there would have been no desolation and gloom all over the Gryffindor Tower like it was the case on that day. It was like a coldness that seeped everywhere... and then there was a dizzying whiff of raw anger.

Albus had lifted his green eyes.

His brother was the one who looked away.

Then the feeling of sadness came back with a shiver under their skin and they went down to Hagrid's hut, yet again not understanding what had happened.

Bert Hammersmith, the keeper of keys, dug a hole near a birch, then stepped back and waited with compassion, holding his big spade. The giant hare of Flanders was standing next to him and the wind was brushing backwards his scruffy fur.

Professor Douglas, who taught _Runes_ and who had often allowed the ferret to perch up on the blackboard with a chalk as a snack, asked Albus if he wanted someone to say a few words, but the boy shook his head, lips fiercely pursed. The man gently squeezed his shoulder, then went back to the castle, holding his bowler hat, his coat flapping in the wind.

A few drops crashed on the lid of the cardboard box and made translucent halos. Lily and Wendy were holding Albus' hands and were crying.

Rosie Weasley and her brother Hugo, who had so many freckles it looked like he had painted them, put flowers in the pit. Scorpius wondered what they were doing there, and then he remembered they were cousins with the Potters.

Then Terrence cleared his throat and suggested timidly to close the grave before the _Hufflepuff_ Quidditch team would come back from training. Albus nodded weakly. He was very pale and was shivering, as if he were cold.

Scorpius took off his jacket and put it over his friend's shoulders. He wished he could do so much more.

When Bert Hammersmith was done tamping the last shovelful, Albus whispered in a shaky voice: "I wish Dad were here" and Lily stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek.

That night, there was no purr either and Scorpius, who was not asleep, saw something very strange. One by one, house elves apparated in the room, as silent as stars reflecting in a pond. They gathered around Albus' bed and joined hands. Their large ears and small bony bodies stood out in the dark and their big golden eyes gleamed mysteriously. Then they began to sing so softly that Scorpius, hidden under his blankets, thought at first he was only hearing blood pounding in his ears.

After a moment, they faded away - or perhaps Scorpius finally fell asleep, lulled by their chant.

In the morning, there was no trace of their passage.

It was not the first time something inexplicable occurred and it was not the last either. During _Defense Against the Dark Arts_ in the supervised swimming part of the lake, one of the grindylows they were studying tore open the safety net and attacked Jane Caradoc who was practicing her stunning spell. Albus, who was paired with her, rushed to help without listening to Professor Curtis who was shouting he needed to get away, her voice oddly distorted by the bubble that allowed her to breathe. Seconds later, the Grindylow was swimming away. It had left large red marks on the arms of the poor traumatized girl, but it had not killed her.

Albus explained to the angry teacher he had _just_ tried to free Jane and that the creature had immediately fled.

The others lost interest in the matter when the next visit to Hogsmeade was announced, but Scorpius and Terrence classified the case in a corner "not to forget" in their heads.

Wendy had a fight with Jane Caradoc afterwards and nobody understood why, but it went unnoticed in the frenzy of Quidditch training. That year, Gryffindor lost _both_ the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup, and then they found themselves again aboard the _Hogwarts Express_ on their way back home.

Craig Finnigan and his two friends ate almost their weight in candy while studying a new magazine they had bought in Hogsmeade: it was called _Blue Laces_ and its content was very dubious. Terrence dozed almost all the way to London. He had a yellowish bandage around his head - _his latest experiment had gone wrong_ \- and his face was dotted with weird little warts. Albus played chocolate frog cards with his sister until she majestically announced she would now go see her friends. Scorpius looked up from his book and an amused smile tugged at his lips as he watched her leave the compartment. Then he jumped when Albus leaned against him to read over his shoulder.

Wendy came back from the bathroom, dressed again like a young lady from the High Society, and slumped on the seat in front of them. She looked sullen, but her expression gradually became envious and miserable.

But Scorpius was too focused to notice.

Albus had fallen asleep against him and he would certainly not wake him up by making a sudden movement.

Then the train pulled into _King's Cross Station_ and stopped noisily, throwing them all over each other. The trunks fell from the nets, the whistle of the locomotive pierced their eardrums and the first cries of joy rang on the platform.

Their third year was over.

During summer holidays, Scorpius turned fourteen and the night of his birthday, he suddenly learned why students who had never looked at him before would suddenly become bullies when they would start their seventh year.

It was an accident.

A storm was coming on that night. The sky was low, the dark purple clouds were puffy and veined in red. The air was terribly hot, thick, and oppressive. Astoria Malfoy had deployed a dozen charms to keep the pergola fresh and nice, but once you were setting foot in the garden, you were dripping with sweat. The elves were going back and forth with grills and salad platters, pitchers of iced lemonade and champagne. The women were in bare shoulders, dressed in beautiful dresses made of shimmering silk, and Scorpius was glad he was still young enough to wear a shirt with short sleeves. As for Lucius and Draco, they were strapped in elegant suits whose sleeves were buttoned impeccably.

They toasted and a mountain of richly beribboned gifts appeared on a wrought iron table, while trays of delicate pastries circulated among the guests.

Scorpius stuffed some _Strawberry Trifle_ in his mouth and nearly choked on it, because at the same time, his father turned to him and asked him to thank the guests.

Then thunder rumbled over the house and there was a flash of lightning, followed by a tumble of broken glass and screams.

Scorpius had shut his eyes instinctively and when he opened them, it was chaos. One of the big windows on the ground floor had been shattered. There were shards of glass everywhere, crunching under his soles, and drops of blood had splattered the white marble terrace.

He looked up and paled.

A dark stain was widening on the sleeve of his father's jacket and something was shining on his forearm. Draco was white as a sheet and his pursed lips had lost all color.

Another lightning shot out, immediately followed by another blast of thunder and then rain began to fall hard and tight.

Draco staggered, looking around him as if he was in a trance or about to faint, then he hurried inside of the house.

\- "Darling!" cried the distraught voice of Astoria and Scorpius cringed.

People were talking all at once, the rain was thrumming with violence on the roof of the pergola, his grandmother was moaning and Lucius was barking orders to the elves who were running all over the place to help the guests and clean up the broken glass.

Scorpius rushed through the shattered door and across the living room. In the corridor, he did not need to follow the trail of blood droplets on the green carpet to find out that his father had gone upstairs. He climbed the steps four at four and rushed to the bathroom.

The thunder broke out again, with a dazzling purple lightning shot and all lights flickered and went out, as if the magic of the mansion had suddenly no more strength.

Scorpius hit his knee against a cabinet and stifled a curse. He blinked, trying to get used to the dark and found the bathroom door.

He heard his father's voice mutter a spell, then the room was filled with a bluish glow, shimmering on the white ceramic tiles. Scorpius was about to come in, but _something_ stopped him: a cold shudder down his spine, a shiver on his clammy skin.

He cast a glance inside, silently.

Magical flames were dancing in front of the mirror. Draco was leaning against the sink, breathing heavily. He had taken off his jacket and dropped it to the floor. He was staring at his left arm, sleeveless, with the glossy shard stuck in it. Scorpius could almost see the trembling of the muscles under the skin smeared with blood.

Draco drew a deep breath. Then he pulled out the shard of glass, hissed in pain and doubled over, gasping.

Scorpius was about to come in and help, but then he froze.

There was _something_ on his father's arm.

 _The horrible black tattoo of a coiled snake and a skull._

 _A drawing that looked awfully like the one his tormentors had carved on his arm during his first year._

Draco gasped, his nails clutching his wrist, and the infamous inscription rippled as if it was feeding on his pain.

Scorpius had stopped breathing and he did not feel the brush against his shoulder when his mother walked past him. The door closed, but not completely. The latch clicked against the doorframe.

\- "You should have waited for me", said Astoria's voice with compassion. "You know you can't be healed by magic when the wound is close to the mark..."

\- "Where's Scorpius?" Draco panted. "I don't want him to see...to know… my shame..."

Scorpius felt his throat clog.

There were _sobs_ in his father's voice.

\- "Shhh... Scorpius is downstairs", softly said Astoria. "Let me take care of you."

The boy's legs wobbled.

 _His mother was lying._

 _She had necessarily seen him._

In the bathroom, water was flowing, someone was opening a closet, moving boxes.

\- "If only", Draco spat bitterly. "If only I had been stronger... if I..."

\- "You couldn't have gone against Lord Voldemort", whispered his wife.

\- "Do not mention _his name_!"

\- "It wasn't fair. You were only a child..."

\- "Harry was the same age and _he_ did not..."

\- "Shh", gently repeated Astoria. "It's useless to torture yourself..."

\- "If Scorpius was Harry's son, he wouldn't have to carry our shame."

 _Oh, how broken was that voice._

 _Desperate, hateful, exhausted, plaintive._

 _Like the voice of a trapped teenager._

There was a rustle of silk and Scorpius guessed his mother had taken his father in her arms.

\- "Scorpius will be fine. He knows nothing of your past... He'll never need to know. It's over, Draco Malfoy. It was a long time ago. The nightmare's over, now. You're free..."

The rain was drumming against the windows and the storm was roaring outside, as lightning shots stabbed the darkness.

Downstairs, under the pergola, in the warmth of candles lit by the elves, the guests were back to the party carelessly. Lucius was sipping a glass of champagne, leaning against a column, and his hand was trembling like one of a drunkard. His wife was glancing at him while graciously welcoming the VIPs who had deigned to come to the young Malfoy's birthday and who may help to restore their soiled name.

Upstairs, in the dark corridor, Scorpius was clenching his fists, his throat so dry it felt like it had been rubbed with a grater.

In the bathroom, Astoria was bandaging the bloodstained Death Eaters' mark with gauze and Draco was crying silently.

These summer holidays marked the end of Scorpius' childhood. He never told his mother of what he had seen and heard that night, and she never mentioned it either. From September onwards, he began to write to his father several times a week. He was telling him all that went through his head, all about his life, all that he cared about: his mad dorm mates, Terrence's incredible tests and theories, the piercings with which Wendy had come back after the break, the beauty that was in everything revolving around Albus.

He filled his letters with his love for his father, with the peace born every night with the purring, with the explosive and joyful evenings in the common room, with the thrill of Quidditch games, with Pernickety Nick's funny OCDs, with the quietness of autumn light and the soft dusty smell of old books in S _tudy of Ancient Runes_.

He became stronger; he was putting on a wry and nonchalant attitude; he smoothed back his almost white blond hair. He was full of hope.

He dreamed that his letters would relieve his father from his burden; he wished with all his heart that one day he would find the courage to stand in front of the man and to tell him how proud he was to be the son of a Death Eater who had turned his back on his master.

He dared asking Neville Longbottom, the Gryffindors' reference teacher about the mark. At first the man looked uneasy and refused to answer his questions. Then he sighed sadly and finally did not revealed much of anything, just explained what the mark meant and told Scorpius he had known his father.

Scorpius tried to imagine the lanky brown-haired man who was teaching them _Herbology_ and a younger version of Draco laughing together like Craig Finnigan and Samuel Flinch-Fletchley. Then he remembered his father had done his schooling in Slytherin at a time when people did not mixed with the other houses.

He didn't tell Albus or the others about his father's past.

For Christmas, he went back to the mansion and showed especially attentive to his grandfather. Lucius, delighted, spent hours telling him about the Malfoys' former glory and going through old trunks full of memories in the attic.

His mother and grandmother were teasing him about Wendy: they knew some parts of his letters by heart and were convinced that he was in love. He did not try to disabuse them.

Draco was watching him, sitting in his high backrest armchair, not saying a thing, as if trying to understand the change that had taken place in his so shy son.

Back to school, Scorpius resumed the routine that was so dear to him. Climbing up the spiral staircases to _Study of Ancient Runes_ , studying shoulder against shoulder with Albus for hours. Looking for his things in their messy dorm and trying not to be contaminated by the shady stuff foaming in Terrence's cauldrons. Listening to Wendy telling him about Quidditch workouts with so big gestures that she almost took your eyes out if you were sitting too close to her. Bearing with the hysterical giggles of Finnigan and Flinch-Fletchley when they were deep into their favorite magazine. Passing by James Potter in the hallways of Hogwarts and enjoying the fact he did not try to bully him anymore. Glaring calmly at Seventh years attempting to engage in hostilities and going away unscathed. Writing to his father and showing him life could be different.

Then in April, everything changed.

First there was the Boggart who betrayed all the fears he thought he had overcome. Then Harry Potter tried to kill his son and, finally, Scorpius found himself in the gallery of portraits, alone with Albus and the painting of a professor named Severus Snape.

He confessed his secret.

Then Albus revealed his own.

From that day forward, their destinies were inextricably linked.

* * *

oOoOoOo

* * *

Scorpius shifted in his sleep. He was hot and something heavy was weighing on his chest. A drop of sweat trickled down his temple. The fleeting images of Hogwarts gave way to his old nightmare of the war in the Hebrides. Then he suddenly found himself in a cave with walls of ice and saw his face appear all around him, huge and pale.

\- "You know you never will..." whispered a voice that frightened and fascinated him at once.

There was an explosion of black feathers, a green blaze, then he saw Albus lying on the ground and he knew he was dead and that it was his fault.

Someone coughed and, with a cry of despair, Scorpius jerked awake in the living room of the Observation Tower.

* * *

...

* * *

 ** _This short story is actually a stand-alone three-part chapter from " the Shufflers of Light", the last fanfic of my Albus Severus Potter series._**

 ** _You may read it on its own – that's why it was posted independently._**

* * *

 ** _BUT if you liked it a lot and want to know what exactly happened during their fourth year, why Harry was accused of murder, who was waiting for Scorpius in the Hebrides and what Albus' secret is, then… may I suggest you give a glance to " Bright as Night" ?_**

 ** _In "_** **the Shufflers of Light" _(_ Dragon's Choice _series part III), Scorpius, Terrence, Wendy and Albus, now 21 years old, are studying in Antarctica, looking for the Gate to a mysterious place called the Axis. And as you probably already guessed, Scorpius' secrets will make a difference when the four friends will have to face a magic far beyond what they ever imagined…_**

 ** _In "_** **Dark as Snow _" (_ Dragon's Choice _series part I), you get to meet the fluffiest and cutest creature ever and you'll be there when Harry makes a terrible choice, changing Albus' life forever and starting the chain of events that will lead us to the depths of Antarctica… (But it's okay if you don't feel like reading "Dark as Snow". You'll be able to understand what's happening in "Bright as Night" just fine.)_**

* * *

 ** _And if you only have time for some more one-shots but still want to have the same bittersweet feeling as you read, I'd like to suggest:_**

 **A Little Girl With A Blue Ribbon _, to know a bit more about Wendy._**

 **The Box _, in which you'll read Albus' letters to Harry during his time at Hogwarts._**

 ** _And the flashback chapter of "Bright as Night" called_** **Toughie & Spoon _, where Terrence and Albus meet for the very first time._**

 ** _Thank you for walking through Scorpius Malfoy's memories together with me!_**


End file.
